Fireworks and Champagne
by ImmortalSpuffy202
Summary: America is hosting a New Year's party and he invites all the nations to D.C. They're all going to watch the ball drop together. Who knows what might become of it? This is mainly a Gerita fic, but will also have some USUK. I love them both too much! Rated T for some swearing.
1. Chapter 1

*A/N Hey! I hope everyone is having a happy new year! I sure am! Lol, I had no one to kiss but my kitten and cat. I have no life, rip. Anyway, this is something I came up with about an hour ago while I was standing in the kitchen eating mini saltines (too much information? Maybe…). Well, I hope you enjoy, the next chapter will be up soon!*

The house was silent except for the soft breathing coming from the bed. Italy was snuggled against Germany with a content look on his face. Every so often he would let out a little "ve…", and hug Germany tighter. The German flinched in response. He wasn't used to this much contact, even though Italy had been living with him for a while now. One day, he just showed up at Germany's doorstep and announced that he was moving in.

A loud ring shattered the silence. Germany groaned. Who would be calling at four in the morning? Gingerly, he pulled the covers off of himself, trying not to wake the sleeping Italian who had somehow snuck into his bed for the millionth time. He followed the sound down the hallway and into his office. How the volume had suddenly increased tenfold, was beyond him. There were some things that weren't worth contemplating.

Germany groggily picked up the receiver. "Hallo?" He grumbled.

A loud voice blared out of the phone, and Germany pushed it away from him on instinct. "What's up dude?!" America screamed from the other side of the call. Germany groaned internally. Why did he, of all people, call me?

"America, why are you calling me at four in the morning?" Germany asked in annoyance.

"Whoa, sorry dude. It's like, eight pm in D.C. You live in Berlin, right? Yeah, sorry 'bout that." America paused for breath. "So anyway, since tomorrow is New Year's Eve, I'm going to throw an awesome party, and you have to be there! Everyone's coming! Of course, Italy is invited too, but I just assumed you would tell him. He lives with you, am I right?" America asked excitedly.

"Ja, he does. He's been living with me for a while now." Germany mumbled tiredly. He was barely registering anything America was saying.

"Good for you dude. We all knew it would happen eventually. Unfortunately, I'm still waiting." America said with sigh. That was uncharacteristic of him. Why was he suddenly so quiet and serious? Germany shook it off. No need to worry about that now. He'd be fine in a few minutes. After another moment of silence, Germany's brain caught up with the rest of the sentence. He began blushing furiously and stammering.

"What?! It's not like that. I-I mean, ja, he lives with me, but we're not together." Germany's face was on fire at this point. Where did America even get that idea? It wasn't like they acted like a couple, right? Well, Italy was always clinging to him, sleeping in his bed and giving him hugs and kisses, but that's just Italy; it's what he does. It didn't make them a couple or anything, right? Germany sighed; these thoughts were getting too confusing for him to deal with right now.

Germany felt like he could see America's surprise through the phone. "What?! Really dude?! Okay, whatever you say, but just so you know, everyone thinks you guys would make the cutest couple." America grinned on the other side. "Well, gotta go dude, I'll see you at the party, right? Make sure you bring "your" Italian!" America yelled loudly.

"J-Ja, I'll see you tomorrow. We're coming to your house in D.C, correct?" Germany asked, his face still flushed with embarrassment.

"Yep! I really gotta go now, see ya!" And with that, America hung up the phone with a bang. Germany was still in shock. He and Italy, a couple? That would never happen. He didn't think of Italy that way. True, he didn't mind his company, but he was still weak and annoying most of the time.

Germany continued to ponder as he walked back into his room. He wasn't getting back to sleep anytime soon, so he might as well get dressed. When he entered the room, the little Italian was still snoring lightly. Germany's lips twitched in an unconscious smile. Without realizing it, he was sitting next to the small country, clothes forgotten. When the bed dipped under his weight, Italy sat up, rubbing his eyes.

"Ve?" He mumbled. Germany shushed him.

"Shh, go back to sleep. The sun isn't even up yet."

"…Okay." Italy proceeded to wrap himself around Germany, nuzzling his head into the stronger man's shoulder. "Ve Luddy, you're comfy." His voice was muffled by Germany's shirt. Germany's heart began to pick up speed with Italy's every movement. Germany's eyes widened as he realized what was going on. He pushed Italy off of him, standing up quickly. Italy's eyes shot open in confusion.

"Germany? What's wrong?" He asked sweetly, his eyes still open for once.

"N-Nothing, I have to go now. Go back to sleep, I'll wake you up later." Germany rushed out of the room, leaving Italy sitting on the bed in bewilderment.

Germany walked down the hallway swiftly. Reaching the kitchen, he sat down at the table and put his head in his hands. Why was this happening now? Every time Italy clung to him before, it didn't do anything. So, why now? It was probably because of what America said. He was messing with his head. Yeah, that's it, nothing more. But, he did look kind of cute. Germany's eyes widened in shock. No, no, no. This couldn't be happening. He didn't like Italy. He didn't like Italy. He didn't li-

"Fuck."

*A/N Well, how was it? Please leave a review with some feedback, or things you might like to see in later chapters; I will take suggestions. This will definitely have more chapters, though I'm not sure exactly how many. They'll be longer too. It just didn't feel right to add any more to this one. Okay, enough ranting. Have a great rest of your New Year, and I'll see you all in the next chapter!*


	2. Chapter 2

*A/N Hey! I'm back again with another chapter. This has some other characters in it too, not just the ones in the last chapter. Well, I hope you enjoy!*

 _Fuck, fuck, fuck, fuck. This can't be happening. What do I see in him? I just don't get it!_

Germany sighed in exasperation. Why was this happening to him of all people? It just didn't make sense. Lost in his thoughts, he didn't hear the light pitter patter of footsteps skipping down the stairs, but he looked up when he saw Italy right in front of him.

"I-Italy! Why are you awake?" He stammered. Italy cocked his head in confusion.

"Umm, it's already nine o'clock, and I wanted some pasta!" Italy jumped up and down in excitement at the prospect of his favorite food. Germany's mouth dropped open.

 _Nine o'clock?! It couldn't have been that long, could it?_

"Are you okay Germany?" Italy asked, putting a hand on Germany's shoulder. The German tensed at the contact, standing up.

"I-I'm fine, just a little stressed. America called this morning. He invited us to his New Year's party tomorrow." Germany rubbed his temples trying to make his head stop pounding. Italy beamed, latching onto Germany's arm.

"Ve, a party! It's going to be great. Right Luddy?" Italy giggled, peering up at his friend. Germany pushed Italy off him again. Italy looked a little hurt.

"Yes, it will be fine. Now go get dressed and I'll book our flight." Germany looked away from the little Italian, who was staring at him in confusion.

"Ve…okay Germany." He walked off slowly. Germany sighed. He didn't mean to make him upset, but he just couldn't deal with him right now. These feelings were still overwhelming him, and Italy wasn't making it any easier. He shook his head. He would just have to fight back. He could overcome them; it wasn't that difficult, was it?

.oOo.

"England dude, come here bro!" America yelled at the top of his lungs. A snarky reply came from the other room.

"What the bloody hell do you want now?!" England called back, walking into the room with his arms crossed. America looked a bit sheepish. He laughed, rubbing the back of his neck.

"Uh, never mind dude, I'll just do it myself. Sorry to bother you again." America went back to work, hanging Happy New Year signs all around his living room. England squinted at him suspiciously. Why was he suddenly acting all subdued? It wasn't like him at all.

"Just tell me what you bloody want America. You already made me come stay with you a week in advance to "set up for the party", but does it really take that long to hang some streamers and buy McDonald's?!" England glared at him, waiting for an answer that would most likely end up with America in the hospital.

"Umm, I thought you were good at this kind of thing. You know, decorating. And I'm not buying McDonald's. I thought I could make some classic American food. Something like barbeque or pulled pork." America mumbled, running a hand through his hair.

England raised an eyebrow. "And where did you get that idea?"

"Well, you had such nice furniture in your house when I was a kid, so I just assumed that you were good at that kind of stuff." America shrugged, looking away from England, who was looking at him in surprise.

"R-Really? You liked my house?" He asked quietly.

"Well, yeah. It was…nice." America replied softly; but in a split second, he was back to normal.

"Hey! Does that mean that you think I can't cook?!" America glared at England, who glared back. The air was tense again.

"What do you expect? I've never seen you cook in your entire life, not counting microwave popcorn, toast, pouring milk in cereal or poptarts." England snickered. America looked away again. His face was slightly flushed.

"I like to cook. You've just never seen it because I knew you would just laugh at me." America said, looking out the window. England's eyes widened, and his expression softened slightly. America continued to speak. "You would probably ask me why I wasn't eating hamburgers like a fat ass, or ask how many calories were in my food." America sniffled quietly, trying to wipe his eyes without England noticing. Food was a soft spot for him. Everyone was always teasing him about it. Whether it was what he ate, how he ate it or how much he ate. It hurt. They didn't understand.

England's jaw dropped to the floor. Did America really think that he would do that to him? Well, it made sense in some ways. They were always fighting, and he did tease him a lot. But it was all in good fun. He knew that, right? While he was lost in his own head, America turned around; he wouldn't look up from the floor. England snapped out of his thoughts, looking at America worriedly. He'd be fine, right? Nothing to worry about. America handed him some streamers.

"Put these up please. Do whatever you want with them. I'm going upstairs." America sprinted out of the room, trying to conceal the tears rolling down his cheeks. England stood frozen. He had no idea what to do. Emotions weren't his strong suit. He sighed. He'd get over it soon, and they could go back to fighting. It wasn't like he hated him or anything. He just got on his nerves. He really was a sweet guy underneath the arrogance. Sighing again, England began putting up the streamers, taking the time to set everything up nicely. When America came down, he would apologize, and then he would go back to being his normal annoying self.

.oOo.

"Come on Italy! Walk faster! We're going to miss the flight!" Germany barked, dragging Italy by the wrist. The smaller man was panting heavily, trying to keep up.

"I'm coming! Slow down a bit, I'm going to fall on my face!" He whimpered, tugging on Germany's arm. Germany looked over at him, sighing in exasperation.

"Fine, but just a little. If we miss the plane, you're moving out." Italy stared at him in horror.

"I have to move out! No fair! I'd miss you too much" He yelled, speeding up a little bit. Germany berated himself, cheeks flushing slightly. That was a low blow, even for him. But, did he really want to stay that badly? What did that mean? Germany internally smacked himself.

 _Idiot, what are you thinking? He doesn't swing that way; he doesn't like you like that._

Italy pouted, passing Germany swiftly and shoving his luggage into the larger man's arms. Germany shook off the confusing thoughts, chasing after Italy.

"Don't give me your luggage! I won't carry it for you this time!" He yelled, sprinting to the Italian, who was now laughing at the terminal gate. Germany glared at him when he arrived, throwing Italy's baggage back to him. Italy squealed when the bag hit him in the face.

"Oww, that hurt." He whimpered. Germany bit his lip. Whoops. That was a little too hard. He felt guilt rush through him.

"S-Sorry Italy." He mumbled. Italy just smiled at him, interlocking their fingers with one hand and picking up his suitcase with the other. Germany blushed and looked away. Italy pointed to the gate entrance.

"Come on Luddy! It's time to board!" He exclaimed in a commanding voice, then proceeded to march Germany to the gate. Germany desperately wanted to wrench his hand from the Italian's grip, but he couldn't do so without hurting his feelings. He was just too close. It was making his hands sweat and his heart beat too fast. He would have to spend seven and a half hours with this man in a cramped space. He couldn't be drained this easily or he would never last.

Italy pulled him onto the plane and shoved his bag in the overhead compartment. He managed to get it in on the third try, only hitting himself in the face twice. Germany sighed. How had he managed to survive this long? Italy sat down in the window seat with his face pressed up against the glass.

"When will we take off Germany?" Italy asked excitedly. He was practically jumping out of his seat in impatience.

"It won't be long. You have to be patient." Germany sighed and shook his head. That man was impossible. Italy smiled at his friend, trying to calm himself down a little bit. Italy laid his head on Germany's shoulder and squeezed his arm. Germany's heart skipped a beat.

"W-What are you doing?!" He stammered. Italy opened his eyes to look at the blond.

"I'm taking a nap!" Italy snuggled into Germany's side, sighing contentedly. "And Germany's so comfy! You're perfect for napping!" He giggled slightly. A fiery blush lit up Germany's cheeks. Why did he have to do this here? When everyone was watching? Well, it was kind of nice, but that's not the point! Italy needed to keep his hands to himself while they were in public, and even when they weren't. At least, most of the time. He didn't really mind all the hugs and kisses when they were alone. He just wished that they meant as much to Italy as they did to him, but he wouldn't get his hopes up.

Germany watched the little Italian snore, occasionally mumbling something about pasta and nuzzling Germany's shoulder. Germany couldn't keep still. Having Italy sleeping on him made him antsy. He wanted to move; he didn't want to move. It was all very confusing. After a few minutes of struggle, he decided to leave him be. He wouldn't wake him until the plane started to move. He knew Italy would want to watch. He was just that kind of person. Germany stroked his auburn hair with the palm of his hand, careful not to wake the sleeping nation.

 _Oh Italy, what am I going to do with you?_

*A/N I got in some USUK in this chapter. I hope it was up to par. I'm such a sucker for sad/depressed America, that I couldn't help but add some in. But don't worry, he's not depressed, just a little upset. How's Germany going to handle this flight. Italy's already hard to deal with, but imagine being stuck with him in a tiny space for seven and a half hours. *covers Italy's ears* I think he would drive anyone crazy! Don't worry baby! I still love you! Anyway, I hope you enjoyed this chapter. The next one will be up this weekend. Ciao!*


	3. Chapter 3

*A/N Welcome back! I hope everyone is having a wonderful weekend. I'm pretty much swamped with homework and studying (I have midterms in two weeks. _Shivers in horror_ ). Anyway, I felt that procrastinating was the best form of action (spoiler alert: it isn't), so I wrote this chapter instead. Well, I hope you enjoy!*

Clouds rushed by as the plane sped through the air. Germany was reading a book, romance, not that he would tell anybody; and Italy was staring out the window, resting his head on his fist. He let out a sigh of boredom. They'd been on this plane for so long! When were they going to get there?!

Italy tapped Germany on the shoulder, startling him so much that he almost dropped his book. Germany felt a light blush creep down his neck at Italy's expectant look. What, did he think Germany could read his mind or something?!

"What is it Italy." Germany asked, as the brunet continued to stare him down.

"When are we going to beeeeee thereeeeee?" He whined, sinking down into his seat and pouting. Germany had to bite his lip to keep himself from yelling at the smaller country. That was at least the fiftieth time he'd asked in the last hour.

"Italy, five minutes ago, we had two hours left. Now, five minutes later, we have an hour and fifty-five minutes left." Germany said tersely. He didn't want to lose his temper when it would cause such a scene; not that Italy wasn't a scene in and of himself. Said nation groaned in disappointment.

"But we've been on the plane foreeeever! How is it possible that we have so much time left?" Italy looked like he was about to cry. Germany shook his head as he watched his friend. So dramatic.

"You just have to suck it up and deal with it. And just so you know, asking me every two seconds won't make time speed up." Italy moaned again, turning back to the window solemnly. He didn't think he could take much more of this. There was nothing to do! Germany was being so boring. He was just reading; he'd been doing that the whole time! How could Germany sit still so easily? Italy would never understand.

Suddenly, he had a bright idea. He shot upright, grabbing Germany's arm, but stopping immediately when he saw the look on his friend's face. It looked like he was about to explode. Italy flinched at the sight.

"What is it now, Italy." Germany spoke through pursed lips.

Italy laughed nervously. "Heh, I just had an idea Germany!" Italy looked at the blond excitedly.

Germany was a bit skeptical. Italy's ideas rarely had his intended outcome, unless it was retreating of some kind. "What kind of idea? If it's another one of your "games", then nein." Germany watched Italy's face lose some of its shine. Damn, he didn't want to hurt his feelings, but he was being extremely obnoxious. He might as well hear what he has to say, if only to keep him quiet in the long run.

"Well, it is a game, but it's a fun one! You won't even have to eat pasta this time!" Germany raised an eyebrow at the statement, but allowed him to continue.

"Go on…" He said, looking at Italy expectantly.

"We can ask each other questions to pass the time! Like a game show or something!" Italy squealed, bouncing in his seat.

So that's what he was thinking. Huh, it wasn't _as_ stupid as he thought it would be. Wait, what kind of questions?

"What do you mean by questions?" Germany asked. He had no idea what was going to come out of the other man's mouth. He was so completely predictable at times, but at others, he was exactly the opposite. His brain worked in mysterious ways, if he even had one.

"Questions about yourself! You know, what's my favorite movie, what's my favorite color. That kind of stuff. Then the other person has to try to guess the answer. Wanna know what's funny? We've known each other for so long, and I still don't know what your favorite color is." Italy beamed, just happy that Germany was talking to him.

Germany sighed. There was no getting out this now. "Okay, fine. I will play with you, but don't ask me anything weird. Oh, and it's green by the way." Italy's face brightened even further. Germany felt a small smile tug at his lips and forced himself to look away.

 _God Italy. What are you doing to me?_

"Yay! The rules are: we take turns asking each other questions about ourselves, and the other person has three chances to get it right. You get three points for guessing on the first try, two for the second and one for the third. The first person to fifty points wins. The winner gets to make the loser do whatever they want for one day, no complaining! And no lying, okay? How does that sound?" Italy was practically glowing in excitement as he waited for Germany's response.

"Ja, okay. You can start." This was actually more thought-out than Germany expected. He just hoped that Italy wouldn't say anything weird. He was already at his limit for intense emotions for the day. That was an understatement; more like a year.

Germany pulled himself together, facing Italy, who was deep in concentration.

"Okay! I have my first question!" Italy grinned happily. "What's my favorite food?" Germany sighed. Of course he would ask something like that.

"Umm, pasta." He replied monotonously. Italy looked disappointed.

"Aww, you got it. I guess that was too easy. Well, I'll step up my game for the next question! Three points to Germany!" Italy giggled, pulling out a crayon and a piece of paper and marking down Germany's score.

Where did he even get that? Oh well, he was just crazy that way. Realizing that it was his turn, Germany spoke up. He already had a question ready.

"How long have we known each other?" He wasn't really expecting Italy to know, but he would give him the points anyway, as long as it was in the ballpark.

Italy furrowed his brows in thought, grabbing his crayon again and scribbling furiously. What was he doing? Germany shook his head and began to watch him, taking in the sight that was Italy. He was beautiful. The way his amber eyes glimmered as he focused; the way he bent himself over the paper like it was something important; the way his tongue poked out of his mouth in concentration; the way-

Germany flushed, dropping his eyes to the ground. He needed to stop staring, that wouldn't do him any good. Italy beamed, apparently done with whatever he was writing.

"Are you ready to answer now?" Germany mumbled, still embarrassed with himself.

"Si! We met during World War I, around 1914 or a little after. I can't remember the exact date. But anyway, that means we've been best friends for about a hundred and four years, almost a hundred and five!" Italy whispered energetically. Even he knew that nations couldn't give themselves away that easily, but he looked so proud of himself for remembering such an important detail. Well, it was important to him, and to Germany, who would never admit it.

Germany's eyes widened in surprise. How did he actually know that?! He was expecting the Italian to say something like, "forever" or "a really long time".

"…That is correct." Italy flashed him a blinding smile.

"Yay! Three points for me! I'm so glad I remembered. I wouldn't want to forget something like that." He giggled quietly, marking down his score.

"And why is that?" Germany muttered, smoothing his hair back.

"Well, it's important. I never want to forget the day I met you!" Italy tried to loop his arms around the German's neck, but his seatbelt cut him short a few inches. His face fell. Germany sighed, leaning over to the Italian.

He perked up immediately, pulling Germany into an awkward hug, not that Italy really cared.

"Yay! Hugs!" He squeezed Germany tighter, making the larger man blush and his heart race. Suddenly, he reached up and pecked Germany on the cheek. Fire erupted on his face. It spread from his cheeks, to his ears and down his neck like a disease.

 _Get a hold of yourself. Italy always acts like this. You should have been prepared._

After a moment of silence, Italy pulled away, still beaming brightly. "Okay, my turn. What is my favorite thing to do?" Italy looked expectantly at his friend, who was now lost in thought.

Italy's favorite thing to do? He barely does anything except eat, sleep and retreat. It would have to be one of those.

"Umm, eating pasta?" He asked. Italy shook his head.

"Nope! But you still have two more tries." He grinned innocently, waiting for Germany's second response.

Well, it would have to be one of the others. "Uh, sleeping?" He replied. Italy giggled and shook his head again.

"Nope! Wrong again! One more try!" Germany scoffed. What else could it be? He doubted that retreating was his favorite thing to do, so he would have to come up with something else.

"Petting cats?" It was a last-ditch effort. Italy frowned slightly.

"No. I love all of those things, but they aren't my favorite."

What else could it be? Italy only did a finite number of things on a daily basis, so how could he get it wrong?!

"What's your favorite thing to do then?" Germany asked. Italy attacked him with another side hug.

"Spending time with you! You're my favorite person ever!" Italy nuzzled the larger man's shoulder, hugging him tightly. Germany felt his blush return at full force once again.

Spending time with…him? Did he really feel that way? Well, he did say no lying, and he wouldn't go against his own rules; he hates hypocrites.

"Is that so…" He murmured softly, covering his face with his hand when Italy nodded enthusiastically. "In that case, I-I like spending time with you too." He forced himself to say it. He didn't think Italy would see his true meaning, so it was safe in his eyes.

"Yay! I'm glad Germany likes me!" Italy laced their fingers together, making Germany tense in response.

"Ja, I do. We're f-friends." Germany added, stuttering when Italy linked their hands together.

It seemed that Italy took no notice of Germany's struggle, and resumed their game.

"Okay Germany! It's your turn!"

*A/N Well, how was it? Only Italy and Germany this chapter, but don't worry, we'll see the others in the next one. The party is almost here!*


	4. Chapter 4

*A/N Welcome to the next chapter! I'm glad I could get this out now, because I only have two weeks until midterms, and I'm extremely stressed out. I'm actually taking a break from studying to write this, so I hope you enjoy it!*

America shut the door with a bang, not bothering to turn the lights on. Tears still rolled down his cheeks despite his best efforts. Why did England have to say that? He thought they were finally getting along; that maybe, just maybe, England was starting to tolerate him. He wanted to use this party as an excuse to get closer to him, but it seemed it was doing just the opposite. He was just being a nuisance again.

America slumped against the wall, wiping the stubborn tears from his cheeks. Damn, he couldn't do anything right. Even compliments were out of the question. All he wanted was a friend. No, that wasn't true. He wanted more, but he knew that was impossible. His wished he could be a hero. One who could swoop in, save the day and get the girl, or in this case, guy. But life wasn't like that. He couldn't always be the hero, no matter how much he wanted to.

He would just have to suck it up and deal with it. Maybe if he stopped trying so hard, things would get easier. Yeah, that's it. He would go downstairs and act like it never happened. England could go back to his same old prissy self, and he could be the hero, like he wanted to be.

.oOo.

 _Bloody hell. Why did I say that? Well, he was being a stupid defensive git, but he looked so upset. Did I really hurt him that much?_

England sat on the couch, surrounded by streamers. He did his best to decorate the way America would have wanted; thus, the whole room was covered in neon streamers and huge signs. England checked his watch: 2:00. America had been in his room for thirty minutes already. He needed to toughen up and get his ass back downstairs. There was only another four hours until the party started. Didn't he need to "cook" or something?

He heard a crash from overhead. That's it, he was going up. The soles of his shoes clicked against the floor with every step. Clink clunk clink clunk. Why were these boots so bloody loud?! Well, at least America could hear him coming. It wasn't like he was trying to sneak up on him or anything.

Reaching the top of the stairs, England stopped. Which way was his room again? He scratched his head, peeking around the corner. Ah, of course. It would have to be the one with the door painted red, white and blue. England continued onwards.

Was knocking appropriate in this situation? Probably, but he didn't really care. Just as he was about to turn the knob, the door shot open and he was bulldozed by what felt like a brick wall. England stumbled, falling backwards and hitting his head on the floor. The wall fell on top of him. No, wait, that was America.

The taller nation looked dazed, but when he felt England struggling beneath him, he clambered off quickly. His face ignited, and he looked away pointedly.

"S-Sorry Iggy, I didn't hear you coming." America mumbled. How did he manage to screw everything up so fast?! It hadn't even been a minute before he ruined everything.

"Didn't hear me?!" England spluttered incredulously, not bothering to correct him on the nickname. What?! Did he need hearing aids or something? You could hear these shoes from a kilometer away; or "0.62 miles". Bloody America. Get with the times.

"I was just coming downstairs anyway. Did you put the decorations up?" He asked. It was like nothing ever happened. England caught himself scowling and took a deep breath. He could do this.

"No." America looked crestfallen. He opened his mouth to say something, but England cut him off.

"Stupid git. Of course I did. You asked me to, didn't you?" England crossed his arms, his eyebrows furrowed. That didn't come out right. He was supposed to apologize. That didn't really sound like an apology.

America's spirit lifted at England's words. He smiled weakly. "Thanks. I'll go downst-" America pushed past England and headed for the stairs but was prevented by an iron grip. He turned, revealing England's hand clutching his wrist.

"America." England started. America cocked his head in confusion. He looked like a little puppy; with his bright blue eyes and the tilt of his head. England felt his face heat up, instantly letting go of the taller nation.

"What is it dude?" America replied, scratching the top of his head.

"I-I wanted to apologize for how I spoke to you earlier. You did nothing to warrant those words." England stuttered, struggling to keep eye contact with the bubbly American. His stomach twisted unpleasantly when America grinned at him, wrapping an arm around England's shoulders.

"Don't worry about it man. You were just speaking your mind." England pushed America's arm away, gaping at him.

"That doesn't make it okay! It's not like I really believed it either. I was just being a prick." England yelled. Something flashed through the American's eyes. Surprise? Relief? …Glee?

England shook his head. He had too many things to deal with right now. He didn't need to dwell on it. America clapped him on the back, his booming laughter shattering the tension in the air. England's heart skipped a beat. He cleared his throat, composing himself.

 _Bloody hell. What is wrong with me? I feel like a nervous wreck around him for absolutely no reason._

Suddenly, he was jerked out of his thoughts, literally. America was pulling him down the stairs while yelling about party preparations.

"Ahh! America! I'm going to break my neck! Or yours!" He screamed, as America dragged him into the kitchen, still laughing heartily. After a few more seconds, America let him go. England straightened his shirt, smoothing out the wrinkles. He raised an eyebrow at the other man, who was now furiously chucking things onto the counter.

"America, what the bloody hell are you doing?" He said exasperatedly. The American glanced back at him, grinning.

"What does it look like I'm doing? I'm cooking, see?" America held up a recipe that appeared out of nowhere. England rubbed his temples. This was going to be a long night.

.oOo.

"Ahh, Iggy! Don't put that in there!" America cried desperately, barely stopping England from pouring an entire container of salt into the pork. England looked at him in confusion. He just wanted to add some extra flavor; and more spices means more flavor. Right?

"Why not? It looked like it needed more spice." England reasoned, trying to shake some salt into the pot. America caught his wrist before he could do any more damage.

"How are you supposed to know that if you don't taste it first?!" America gaped at him in horror. He was going to ruin perfectly good food!

"Taste it? Then it wouldn't be a surprise at the end!" America smacked a hand to his forehead closing his eyes. This was useless. There was no changing Iggy. As suddenly as his eyes closed, they opened again.

"Wait, did you just say spices?" He asked. There was no way he heard that right.

England looked confused. He held up the container of salt. "Yes. Spices. You know, salt?" America had to fight the urge to give England a good smack upside the head.

"Dude! Salt isn't a spice. Not a real one at least." England stared at him in utter horror.

"What do you mean it isn't a spice?! I use it all the time! It's literally the only bloody spice I have!" England argued, waving the salt in the air. America shook his head in disgust. So that's why his food was so bad. It was the salt. That, and the fact that he had the wonderous talent of setting cereal on fire with only a bowl and some milk.

America grabbed the container out of his hand, effectively ending his rant. England scowled, crossing his arms defiantly. America sighed. This was going to be a long day.

.oOo.

 _Buzz buzz buzz._ Prussia looked down at the table where his phone was ringing. The macarena blared loudly from the device. Spain. Prussia grinned, snatching up the phone.

"Hey, hey, hey! The awesome Prussia is here!" He announced to the man on the other end.

"Mi amigo! How are you?" Spain asked cheerfully. It sounded like he was walking on a busy street. Prussia replied boisterously.

"I'm awesome! What did you think?!" He laughed, Spain joining in as well.

"So, are you and Francis at the cafe yet?" Spain inquired.

"Nein, I'm waiting here for you guys. Don't leave me alone for too long! Kesesesese." Prussia laughed again. Spain rolled his eyes from the other side.

"I'll be there in a minute, I'm walking down the street." There was a crash on Spain's end, along with a few muffled curses, a "sorry" and an "are you okay".

Prussia raised an eyebrow, trying to contain his laughter. "You run someone over there buddy?" He yelled, making the other customers in the cafe turn and stare at the strange man sitting alone in a booth.

"Yeah, but everything's fine, it was just Romano. I was happy just to see mi tomate! He must be coming to the party too. Anyway, I'm on my way." Spain hung up the phone, cutting off Prussia's goodbye. The albino shook his head. Spain was always going on and on about his "little tomato". It was a bit obnoxious. They should just get together already!

Suddenly, the door burst open. A glamourous man strutted through the entryway.

"Hon hon hon! Je suis ici! Nous pouvons commencer la fête!" He laughed, his blond hair blowing fabulously in the gust of wind that happened to come along at exactly the right moment.

Prussia groaned lightheartedly. "Francis, you know I didn't understand a word you just said." France stopped, then began to laugh again.

"Je suis desolée, mon ami. I guess you are just too plain for the language of love!" France grinned at him mischievously. Prussia frowned.

"No way! I'm totally more awesome than you!" He argued forcefully, nearly knocking over a chair in his efforts.

"Oh really? Prove it-" France was cut off by the slam of the door. They turned around. There was Spain, hunched over and breathing heavily. He looked up when the room went silent. Seeing his friends, he gave a weak smile.

"H-Hey guys, I'm here." Both Prussia and France gaped at him.

"What the hell happened man?" Prussia asked. It was unusual to see him this winded. Spain gave a weak laugh.

"Well, I kind of tried to bring Lovino along, but he got pissy and chased me down the street, saying he was going to kick my ass back to Spain." Prussia rolled his eyes and France raised an eyebrow. Spain shrank back from the accusing stares.

"Heh, sorry. He just looked so cute, and I wanted to bring him along!" Spain mumbled, running his fingers through his hair.

France sighed, sending Prussia a knowing glance. He grabbed Spain by the arm, dragging him over to their booth. Prussia followed behind them shaking his head incredulously.

That man would never learn.

*A/N So sorry for the wait, but I hope you enjoyed it anyway! Midterms have been stressing me out so much, so I haven't had as much time to write as I wanted. Anyway, this is the first time writing the BTT, so tell me how I did! The next chapter will hopefully be up anytime from Friday to Sunday. Please be on the lookout! Here are the translations for the chapter. It looks like French class has gotten me somewhere!

 **Je suis ici:** I'm here

 **Nous pouvons commencer la fête:** We can start the party

 **Je suis desolée, mon ami:** I'm sorry, my friend

Thanks for reading!*


	5. Chapter 5

*A/N Woot woot! It's time for another chapter! I'm finally getting back into writing this; I've had such a busy week, and this is the first time I've had to sit down and write since Wednesday. Moving on, the party is here! Dun dun dun! Well, the first part at least. With all the nations in one place, chaos is sure to ensue.*

"Can we book a room for the night?" A young woman stood behind the front desk of the Holiday Inn, staring at the two men in front of her. Germany sighed. Did she not understand him? He didn't think his accent was that thick. He tried again.

"We would like a room please." Italy nodded enthusiastically beside Germany.

"Ve, one room please!" He grinned at the receptionist, who smiled shyly back at him. Germany scowled at the woman, pressing closer to Italy.

"Just for the night?" She asked, typing on the keyboard.

"Yes." Germany replied.

"Double or single?" A pause. She waited impatiently, lightly tapping her fingers on the desk.

Germany started to stutter. "Uh…umm." Italy giggled, latching onto Germany's arm.

"Ve Luddy, what do you want?" A blush began to creep up Germany's cheeks, and he looked away from the sunny Italian.

"Whatever you want It-Feli." Germany mentally scolded himself.

 _God, am I really that stupid? I almost called him Italy in front of a random person. He's just- I just can't focus when I'm around him. He makes my head spin._

"Well, a single would probably cost less, and I know you like saving money, but we can get a double if you want." Italy smiled at the taller man, happiness and excitement radiating from his tanned face.

"Umm, no-" Germany muttered, only to be cut off by the receptionist.

"I think I'll take that as a yes. One single, room 126 on the left." Smiling slyly, she handed Germany a key card, watching as they headed to their room to drop off their luggage. The Italian man was still clinging to the German, babbling about pasta and kittens.

She shook her head. That man, she glanced at the screen, Ludwig Beilschmidt, he needed to get his act together. You would have to be deaf, dumb and blind not to see that he was head over heels with the other. She peeked at the record again; Feliciano Vargas, that was it. They just needed a little push. There was no doubt about it; they would be a couple by the end of their stay.

.oOo.

 _6:00 p.m._

"Come on Iggy, people are gonna be here in like, three seconds! It's time to party!" America yelled, his voice a few decibels louder from excitement. England grumbled, emerging from the kitchen with a bottle of champagne in his hands.

"Calm down idiot. Where do you want me to put these?" He asked, brandishing the bottles at America.

America pointed to a bucket filled with ice and water. "In there dude. Chop chop, we don't have all day!" America clapped his hands, nudging England towards the bucket. England pushed him away.

"I can do it myself. Thank you very much." America laughed, smacking England on the back and receiving a glare in response. He shook his head. He worked really hard to plan everything, so it had to go perfectly. This was his only chance.

Suddenly, the doorbell rang. America jerked out of his thoughts, dashing into the foyer. He yanked the door open. A young man with long brown hair stood before him. America grabbed his hand and pulled him inside.

"Lithuania! My man! How've you been?" Lithuania brushed the hair out of his face, laughing nervously.

"Umm, I've been well. Russia's stopped bothering me, so that's a plus." He replied. America grinned, patting him on the back.

"Aweso-" He stopped abruptly as a shoe flew through the doorway, smacking Lithuania on the head. An annoyed blond strutted across the threshold.

"Toris! You like, left me out there with all my clothes!" Poland crossed his arms in huff, glaring at Lithuania like he just committed a criminal offence. Lithuania rubbed the back of his neck sheepishly.

"S-Sorry Feliks. I just assumed you would leave it in the car." Poland poked Lithuania on the cheek.

"What? You thought I would leave something like that in the car?! Like, no way! People deserve to see beauty!" He gave a little twirl, his short pink skirt swishing around his hips. America rolled his eyes at England, who just entered the room with his eyebrows raised.

"Hello Poland, Lithuania." He nodded to both of them, straightening his tie. "Happy New Year."

"Y-You too." Lithuania replied nervously. Poland was currently dumping piles of clothes onto the floor, looking extremely pleased with himself.

Poland sauntered up to Lithuania, leaning over his shoulder to whisper in his ear. "Hey Tor, what should I wear?" Lithuania jumped at the hot breath on his neck.

"Umm, you look fine right n-now." He stuttered as Poland wrapped an arm around his waist.

The blond pouted, but recovered instantly when he eyed the food. Grabbing Lithuania by the arm, he dragged him over to the appetizers, laughing loudly. "Woo! It's like, time to party!"

England sighed. "How does Lithuania put up with him? They make the oddest couple." America shook his head incredulously.

"I know man. But you know what they say…" He paused, pulling England closer to him, staring intensely, "…opposites attract." England's eyes widened under America's penetrating gaze. He could feel his heart picking up speed.

 _Bloody hell! What does he think he's doing?_

After a few moments of silence, America relented, releasing England and smiling sheepishly.

"Uh, sorry. I got a little carried away." He turned away from the shocked Brit, hiding the light blush that dusted his cheeks. England stood there, stunned, unable to comprehend the situation. He smoothed down his shirt, clearing his throat.

"I-Is that the door? I'll go answer it. You don't want to keep your guests waiting. It's not proper manners." He coughed, pushing America out of the way, and rushing to the front door.

America pouted childishly. Damn, he almost got an answer. But it still wasn't clear. He had to be more direct.

It was time for plan b.

.oOo.

 _God. That wanker. What is he doing to me? I can't be around him for five minutes without my heart racing._ _Stupid American…_

An image of the taller nation flashed through his mind. Dirty blond hair with that stubborn cowlick that never seemed to cooperate; crystal clear eyes as blue as the ocean; a million-dollar smile; a sculpted figure-

England smacked his head on the door. No, these thoughts were not acceptable. That's no way to think about another man, let alone America. It just wasn't.

But, he really was something. What something, England had no idea. He was just something. He paused. Wait, did that mean he had feelings for America? No, that couldn't be right. He was just a friend. But his heart sped up and his face ignited whenever America got too close. That had to mean something…

No, it didn't. He wasn't gay. Not at all. England sighed, leaning against the door. Life was too confusing. He couldn't figure himself out, let alone anybody else. Especially America. He had no idea what was going on inside that man's head.

His resolve stiffened. He was going to ignore America until he figured himself out. It wouldn't be that hard. By the end of the night, everything would be fine. He wouldn't have to deal with these confusing feelings anymore, and he could fly back to his country without anything weighing on his mind. England nodded, a note of finality in his movements.

Yes, that's right. Everything would be fine.

Right?

*A/N Sorry for the wait again. Time just kind of got away from me. Anyway, I slipped some Lietpol in there too. Lol, I didn't even tag it. It was a spur of the moment kind of thing. Well, I'm hoping to get the next chapter out by the end of this week, the latest being Monday (the day before my first midterm, eww). Have a wonderful week! Until next time!*


	6. Chapter 6

_*_ A/N Hey everyone! I'm back. I hope you enjoy the newest chapter!*

 _6:10 pm_

"And I was like, bitch please. And then he was like-" Poland was cut off by a strong rap on the door, followed by multiple ding dongs. America turned away from the other man, glad to have an excuse to get a break from Poland's "stories".

"Sorry, man. Gotta get the door." America watched as Poland immediately resumed his conversation with Lithuania, who had returned from the bathroom a moment before. The poor man had no idea what was going on, as Poland didn't bother to explain from the beginning.

America shook his head, walking into the foyer. The doorbell ceased its ringing and was replaced by a stern yell and a high pitched scream. He rolled his eyes. Italy and Germany. No doubt about it. He yanked open the door and was faced with an angry German holding a whimpering Italian in a headlock. America doubled over in laughter. Of course Italy was the one to ring the bell. America shook his head, wiping tears from his eyes. Germany looked up the other man, Italy still struggling against him. He immediately let go of the brunet, who sighed in relief. Italy gave a huge smile, clutching Germany's arm. The German cleared his throat, attempting to push the Italian off of him, but he was holding tight.

"S-Sorry we're late." He replied sheepishly, seeing the look on America's face. He had one eyebrow raised and a hand on his hip.

"Don't worry about it dude. But you know what I said before? Are you sure it isn't true?" America looked pointedly at Germany. Italy cocked his head in confusion.

"Is what true?" He asked, wrinkling his nose and laying his head on Germany's shoulder.

Germany flushed and turned away. "N-Nothing. America is just spewing nonsense as always." Italy buried his head into Germany's side.

"Okay!" He giggled, trying to pull Germany into the house.

"Italy, wait!" Germany yelled, unsure of how Italy was able to drag him inside. He was strong when he wanted to be.

America gave him a look that clearly said, "really?" He shook his head as Germany tried to hide his blush while he the eager Italian was dragging his across the threshold.

He would never learn.

 _6:30 p.m._

Music blared throughout the house, and nations danced and mingled around the food. America sighed, pushing the hair out of his eyes. Italy was clinging onto Germany, as per usual; Poland was talking to France about a new pair of shoes that he bought the other day; Prussia was attempting to dance with Hungary while Austria fumed from the sidelines; the Nordics were huddled in the corner talking to Lithuania, Estonia and Latvia; Russia was hiding from Belarus; China was trying to sell treats; Spain was hitting on Romano (Japan was watching from behind a plant); and Canada was attempting to talk to his brother, who was not paying any attention at the moment. It was chaos. But it was standard chaos.

America turned his head as someone brushed past him. He caught a glimpse of emerald green: England. He frowned. Where was he the whole time? America shook his head. At least he was back now. He could start carrying out his plan. Everyone was finally here. Let the party begin!

.oOo.

America sidled up to England, who was planning out the best route to avoid France. Said man was currently laughing and gesturing widely at Poland, who looked just as excited. America took a deep breath to mentally prepare himself.

 _Here goes nothing._

"Umm, England dude, wanna dance?" He held a hand out to the shorter man, forcing himself to make eye contact. His cheeks were on fire, coloring his usually tanned face a deep crimson. England looked stunned. He stood there, stock still. Thirty seconds passed, and yet he still didn't move. America was starting to get worried.

 _Was that a no? God, I'm so stupid. Why did I ever think I would have a chance with him of all people?_

"Umm, England?" America asked quietly. He didn't want to embarrass himself even more than he already had. America's voice seemed to snap England out of his stupor. He shook his head, backing away from the American.

 _What do I do? He just asked me to dance! Is that supposed to mean something?_

England tried to reason with himself. America was still gazing at him, biting his lip nervously.

 _No, this was probably a prank. Anyway, it wasn't like the music was right for that kind of dancing in the first place._

His heart sank at the thought. Of course it was a prank. Why would America want to dance with him of his own free will?

 _Wait, does that mean I wanted to dance with him?! Of course not! He's just a stupid American. One that is looking a bit upset at the moment. What the hell! What's wrong with him?!_

England began to back away, unsure of the right thing to do. Somewhere in his mind, he knew he wanted the energetic blond, but the rest of him, the part that did most of the thinking, was screaming at him to run; to run away from this feeling in his chest. One that made his heart flutter and his cheeks burn.

"Uh, umm. I'm quite busy right now. I'll just be going." He managed to splutter, before dashing out of the room. America looked crestfallen as he watched England run into the kitchen. He could feel his mind go into overdrive. The other side of him was emerging.

 _What did you think would happen, idiot? That he would actually want to dance with someone as arrogant and annoying as you?_

America bit his lip hard enough to draw blood. _Stop it with the self-pity already. It won't do you any good. If he hates you, then he hates you. There's nothing you can do about it except shut your mouth and deal with it._

America glared at himself. This other side of him was getting annoying. It made him think depressing thoughts that he had no need for. He shook his head. He would just have to try harder. Maybe England just hated dancing. Yeah, that was definitely it. He just had to come up with a new plan b.

America glanced over at the bucket filled with untouched champagne bottles. It was about time to crack them open anyway. America jumped up on one of the chairs and called out to his guests.

"Hey! Thanks for coming dudes and bros! I hope this New Year will be a great one. I know not all of us get along, but for one night, let's be people, not nations." He smiled at the room around him. People began to file into the room at the sound of America's voice. A crowd of nations circled America as he gave his speech.

"So, I hope everyone has a kickass time tonight! Let's open a bottle of champagne for a toast!" America shouted, punching the air with his fists. The room exploded in applause. They were all glad for the yearly reset. Everyone needed a clean slate once and a while, and New Year's was the perfect time.

Jumping down from the chair, America pushed his way through the crowd, pulling a bottle out of the bucket. Within minutes, every nation had a flute filled with the bubbly liquid. America lifted his to the ceiling.

"To a happy New Year!" He yelled, smiling widely.

"To a happy New Year!" The nations chorused back, each taking a sip from their respective flutes. After that ordeal, the nations went back to the party, which was starting to pick up speed. With the excitement of the new year to look forward to, combined with alcohol, craziness was sure to ensue.

While everyone was dancing and eating, America scoured the room for the object of his affections. Out of the corner of his eye, he spotted him, scowling and holding a flute of champagne. He must have been hidden by the taller nations. America rushed over to him, covering the top of his glass so his drink wouldn't spill.

"Hey! Iggy!" He yelled smiling. He wouldn't mess up this time. It would go perfectly. England glared at the taller man.

"I told you not to call me that." A few drops of champagne dripped onto the carpet when America wrapped an arm around his shoulders. Said man was completely ignoring the other's complaints.

"I want you to do something with me." England pushed America off of him, looking skeptical.

"And what would that be?" He raised an eyebrow impatiently as America laughed. America grabbed the arm holding the champagne and linked his arm with it.

"W-What are you doing?!" England stuttered, trying to get away without spilling any more of the drink.

"Come on Iggy! It's for good luck! We link arms and drink champagne!" He pulled England closer, reclaiming the arm that had escaped a moment earlier.

"See, you put your arm around mine while holding the champagne, and I do the same thing. That way we can drink while our arms are linked!" America smiled sheepishly, starting to lose confidence. England rolled his eyes.

"Fine, I'll do it. But only because it's for good luck, and god knows we all need some luck these days."

 _At least he didn't ask me to do something weird again, like dancing. But, would it really have been that bad?_

England shook his head. It was not the time to be contemplating these things. He was shaken out of his stupor when America nudged him with his hip.

"W-What?!" England shouted, startled by the sudden contact. America frowned slightly but shook it off.

"Aren't you going to do it with me?" He asked, tilting his head at the other. England let out a shaky sigh.

"Yes. Let's get on with it." He wrenched his arm out of America's grasp and then linked it with his. America smiled happily.

"Okay. On three." England nodded.

"One."

"Two."

"Three."

They both tipped their glasses upwards, taking a sip of champagne. When they pulled apart, America had a blinding grin on his face.

"Thanks dude. That was fun." He beamed excitedly, leaning in and grabbing England for a hug. He spluttered, unsure of what to do. He could feel his heart racing and his face start to heat up. But with America's chest pressed up against his own, he noticed that America's heart was racing as well. Was he okay?

 _Fuck. What the hell is he doing?! Does he know what he's doing to me?! But I guess the real question is: what am I doing to him?_

Suddenly, America let England go, brushing back his hair. A genuine smile graced his features along with…a blush? England shook his head once again. This was too much at once. But…he looked truly happy.

"Really, thanks man." He clapped England on the back, causing a bit more champagne to fall to the ground, before dashing back into the crowd. America sighed once he was safely in the kitchen.

 _Man, that actually worked? I can't believe he agreed to it._

He put a hand to his chest, his heart was running a marathon.

 _But having him that close to me…god, it makes me fall apart._

.oOo.

"Hey Luddy!" Italy squealed in delight, hugging Germany around the middle. Germany jumped, a faint blush beginning to spread down his neck.

"I-Italy! What are you doing?" He spluttered, trying to push the smaller man off of him. Didn't he know that it wasn't appropriate to act like this in public?! They weren't even together!

At that thought, Germany's heart began to race, and his stomach lurched unpleasantly. But that's what he wanted, wasn't it? But it was never going to happen, not in a million years. Italy didn't feel the same way. He likes women, always flirting with them at every possible opportunity.

Germany snapped back to reality when he felt Italy wrap his legs around his waist.

"W-What?!" He shouted breathily. Italy giggled, hugging Germany around the neck and laying his head on his chest.

"Silly Germany! I couldn't reach you from down there, so I came up here!" He smiled happily, nuzzling his head further into the blond's chest. Germany attempted to push him off, but he was holding on tightly. Italy looked at him in confusion, why was Germany pushing him off?

"What are you doing?" He asked sweetly, cocking his head at the taller man.

"You can't act like this in public! We're not t-together." He managed to mumble, unhooking Italy's legs from his waist and setting him on the ground. He looked crestfallen. Germany always let him hug him! Why did he hate it now? Italy could feel hot tears forming in his eyes. When Germany noticed this, he started to panic.

"I-I'm sorry. I love your hugs, but you can't cling to me like that in public, people might get the wrong idea." Germany muttered, not looking at the other.

"But why not? America is hugging England, and they aren't together!" Italy pouted. He wanted to hug Germany, whether it was at home or in public.

Germany sighed. There was no way he was getting out of this. "C-Come here." He opened his arms to the Italian, who looked up in surprise. A wide grin broke out on his face, and he rushed into Germany's open arms.

"Yay! Hugs!" He giggled happily, holding Germany tighter.

 _Ti amo Luddy._

Germany knew his face was completely red, but he didn't care at the moment. He had given up. He was just going to enjoy the moment, even if it seemed odd to onlookers. Germany wrapped his arms around Italy's back, patting it gently.

"Yes." He replied. "Hugs."

*A/N I am SO sorry for the incredibly long wait. I was going to post this last night, but my internet decided to crap out on me. So here we are. I hope you enjoyed this chapter, it was my longest one yet! I have this headcanon that Poland and France are shopping buddies, so I couldn't help adding that in. I wish they interacted more in canon though. Here's a link to a photo of the champagne thing if you weren't sure what I was talking about:  .  Anyway, I'm estimating a few more chapters before the end of this fic, probably about three. Thank you for all the support you guys have given me throughout this fic. I really appreciate it. Well, enough sappy stuff, we had enough of that in the chapter. I'll see you in a few days! Ciao!*


	7. Chapter 7

*A/N Welcome back everyone! I hope you've had a wonderful day, and even if you haven't, maybe this chapter will cheer you up. I'm certainly happy right now; I had a snow day yesterday! Well, technically it was a cold day (it was around -30 ℉ with wind chill), but who cares! It still meant no school! Anyways, sorry it took longer than I thought, I had a little writer's block here and there, but it's done now, so enjoy!*

 _8:30_ _p.m._

"Get off of me tomato bastard!" Romano yelled angrily, trying to push the happy-go-lucky Spaniard away from him.

"But Lovi, you know you love it." He grinned, clutching Romano tightly. Wasn't it time to announce their relationship? They've been dating for a few months, but Romano refused to tell anyone. Spain accepted his conditions when they got together, he was just too excited to think it through, but it was weighing on his mind. Was Romano so embarrassed of him that he couldn't even tell his own brother? He just wanted Romano to admit that they were together. He loved him, right?

After another few minutes of struggling, Prussia wandered over, a beer in one hand and Hungary's wrist in the other. Hungary was just about ready to smack him upside the head with her frying pan. If he tried to flirt with her one more time…!

"Toni, just let him go. It's obvious he doesn't feel the same way. Isn't it time to give it up?" Prussia nodded towards the writhing Italian in Spain's arms. Spain frowned, releasing his grip on the young man. Romano glared at him.

"What was that for, you bastard?!" Spain winced internally, smiling sheepishly at his boyfriend.

"S-Sorry Lovi, you're just too cute!" He took a step back when Romano flipped him off. Prussia sighed, shaking his head. Hungary could barely contain her glee at the sight. She was the only one who could see through them. She just had an eye for that kind of thing.

"Come on man, let's go get some food." Prussia dragged Spain away from Romano by the arm. Spain turned back at the moody Italian, who was glaring at him angrily, and blew him a kiss.

"Love you Lovi!" He yelled as Prussia pulled him into the kitchen. Romano scowled again, crossing his arms and looking away.

"I hate you tomato bastard!" Hungary rolled her eyes. These two were impossible. It was a wonder how they were able to keep their relationship a secret for so long. Romano was still standing in the middle of the room, trying to hide the faint blush on his cheeks While Hungary was contemplating the absurdity of both the Spaniard and the Italian, a cheery voice broke through her thoughts.

"Ciao Romano! How are you? I haven't seen you in so long!" Italy exclaimed happily, clinging to his brother and jumping up and down. There was a blinding smile his face as he hugged his older brother, the exact opposite of the death glare Romano sent his way. Italy took no notice of it. He was too excited at the prospect of seeing his family that he could care less that Romano was about to kill him. Romano tried to push him away but had no luck. There was no stopping a determined Italian.

"Get off me, idiota fratello. I don't want your hugs." Italy pouted, laying his head on Romano's shoulder.

"But Romano, we haven't seen each other in months!" Romano scoffed. That wasn't his fault. Italy was the one who decided that moving to Germany was a good idea.

"Yeah? Well whose fault was that? You were the one who moved in with that potato bastard." Italy stuck his tongue out at the other man good naturedly.

"Hey. Germany's a nice guy, you shouldn't be so mean to him." Italy patted Romano on the head in an attempt to cheer him up, but only succeeded in annoying him further.

"Get your hands off me idiota!" He yelled. Italy laughed sweetly. Romano was being extremely stubborn, and Italy could only guess at the reason. Unbeknownst to his brother, Italy could tell that something was going on with Spain. Romano always complained about him, but whenever he was around, Romano lashed out at everyone. After years of being around his brother, Italy could tell that this was just a defense mechanism. Romano had always been the type to shut himself off from others, but that didn't mean he had no feelings. In fact, it was painfully obvious to anyone who actually cared enough to pay attention.

Italy shook his head. Spain returned his feelings, there was no doubt about that, but would Romano admit his own?

"What's wrong Romano?" Italy asked innocently. Romano scowled, thinking back to the encounter with his over eager boyfriend.

"Spain was being a bastardo again. He wouldn't leave me alone." Italy giggled quietly. Of course it was Spain.

"What was he doing that made you so angry?" He asked, tilting his head inquisitively.

"He was just being annoying, like always. He wouldn't stop clinging to me." Romano replied angrily. Why was Italy asking so many questions? He couldn't know, could he?

"You know Romano, if you really hated it that much, you could just push him off. Are you just going to deny tha-" Italy's voice was muffled by a hand covering his mouth and an arm around his neck. Romano looked livid.

"Shut up right now fratello. You have no idea what you're talking about. I hate that tomato bastard, end of story." Romano released Italy, shoving him across the room. Italy rubbed his neck where Romano had him in a headlock. Italy knew he was testing the limits, but he couldn't resist. Spain and Romano would be such a cute couple!

"Ve, okay fratello, whatever you say." Italy said, backing away from the older Italian. Rage was radiating off him in waves. It was almost tangible. Romano sent a nasty glare in his direction, and with a little squeal, Italy dashed off into the kitchen where Germany was waiting for him.

Hungary rolled her eyes once again. How could he deny his feelings when they were so blatantly obvious?! She shook her head in exasperation. She would just have to hope and pray that they would work it out by the end of the night. And with Italy's help, it might just be possible. She never would have guessed how clever the sunny young man actually was; what with his carefree demeanor and easygoing lifestyle.

Hungary scowled at no one in particular, shoveling chips into her mouth. Despite his apparent expertise in the love life of his brother, he still had no idea what to do about his own. He was completely oblivious in that aspect. It was clear to see that Germany adored him, but Italy couldn't pick up on it.

God, why was everyone so stupid! If they could just shut up and kiss, everything would be so much simpler.

*A/N Hey everyone! I hope you enjoyed this chapter! Sorry it was so short, I was a bit stuck on this one. I had the beginning and the end of this story planned out, so the middle has been a bit tricky. Anyway, I'll be posting the next chapter within a week. See you soon!*


	8. Chapter 8

*A/N Hi! I hope you all had a great week! Guess what?! This is officially my longest story yet! I'm so excited! This will definitely motivate me to finish the entire thing. We're so close, only two more chapters after this one. Enjoy!*

 _10:30 p.m._

The kitchen was packed with people trying to enjoy their dinner. America was gesturing wildly, his arms flailing in the air, as he explained his newest Hollywood film to Canada. The timid nation winced every time America's hands got too close to his face.

"-and then the hero saved everyone!" He exclaimed happily, punching the air in excitement. Canada smiled weakly. America was always like this, everything was black and white to him, at least in the world of movies.

"Y-Yeah, that sounds cool America." He stuttered as America let out a booming laugh, patting his brother on the shoulder.

"I know dude! It's awesome!" Canada sighed.

 _Well, at least he knew I was here._

"Hey man, I'm glad you came. I've been looking for you since the party started, but I couldn't find you anywhere!" America chuckled sheepishly. The truth was, he was too preoccupied to notice his twin trying to catch his attention. This thing with England wormed its way into all of his thoughts. It was hard to pay attention to his brother, who wasn't the most noticeable in the first place, when he was trying to come up with the best way to seduce England.

"That's okay Al. I'm just happy we can spend some time together." America grinned even wider, clapping Canada on the back.

"Definitely dude! So, are you ready for the new year? How's the weather at your place? How's your love life doing? What-" When Canada sent him a pointed stare, America shut his mouth. Despite his cluelessness and tendency to ignore social cues, America still listened to his brother.

Canada sighed. Dealing with his twin brother could be a pain at times even though he meant well.

"How's my love life doing? What about yours? Is England still oblivious?" He asked, one eyebrow raised. America's face paled in an instant. Grabbing Canada by the arm, he dragged the other into an empty hallway, causing the plate of food in his hand to clatter to the floor.

"Don't talk so loud!" America whispered. Canada sighed once again.

"What, don't tell me he still doesn't know!" America ran a hand through his hair nervously.

"Not exactly. I tried to drop some hints, but he still doesn't get it. I even asked him to dance and everything!" America bit his lip, averting his eyes from the piercing gaze of his brother.

"I don't think he feels the same way. I should just give it up." Looking up at Canada, he managed a small smile, one that didn't reach his eyes. Canada knew he was upset. England was really important to America, whether he admitted it or not, and having his advances rejected after years of planning definitely put a damper on his mood. Canada gently placed a hand on America's shoulder to comfort him.

"Feelings manifest themselves differently in every person. You can't be sure that England doesn't reciprocate your feelings unless you ask him directly." America's eyes widened at the suggestion. He couldn't do that! Asking him to dance was one thing, but outright telling him… America shivered. If he didn't feel that way, England would never look at him the same again. America couldn't bear the thought. He laughed nervously, clenching his hands into fists.

"Dude! I can't do that!" Canada mentally rolled his eyes.

"And why not?" America stopped, a look of confusion washing over his flushed face.

"Because, because…I just can't." Canada sighed. It was no use. He couldn't force them to admit their feelings, but he could give some encouragement.

"Fine. But don't give up. Just because things aren't going the way you want them to right now doesn't mean they won't in the future." Releasing his brother, Canada bent over to pick something up from the floor. America strained his neck, trying to get a glimpse of the object Canada had retrieved.

Turning around, Canada grabbed America's hand, placing the object in his palm and closing his fingers around it. America looked down in confusion as he felt something prick his fingers.

"Hmm?" It was a rose, still fresh. "Where'd you get that bro?" America asked cautiously.

"You knocked it out of a vase when you pulled me into the hallway. Do what you want with it." With those parting words, Canada backed out of the hall, leaving America to stare at the bright red rose clutched in his hand.

What could he possibly do with a flower?! Roses really weren't that interesting. You could smell them, look at them and eat them. That was basically it. While America was lost in his own thoughts, a flash of green crossed his vision.

"England?" He whispered to himself. He peered down at the flower his twin gave to him. He clenched it in his fist. He knew what he was going to do.

.oOo.

 _10:45 p.m._

"Hey Germany, is there any pasta?" Italy asked sweetly, resting his chin on the table. Germany sighed from his place next to the young man. This was the fifth time he'd asked that in the past hour. Why didn't he just go make his own pasta? He probably had some stuffed in his pockets or something.

"No Italy, I already told you, there isn't any pasta." Germany sighed in exasperation. Italy pouted, crossing his arms in a huff.

"Aww man. But, are you suuurrreee there isn't any pasta?" Italy asked eagerly, shaking Germany's arm rapidly. Germany pulled the limb out of the energetic Italian's grip and gave him a pointed scowl, watching as he began to pout once again.

"Is it twelve o'clock yet?" He inquired, bouncing out of his seat. Germany groaned. All these questions made him want to claw his eyes out! But at least he's moved on to another topic.

"No, we still have another hour." Germany willed himself not to yell at the unsuspecting man. He knew it was just Italy, but just Italy was testing his patience.

"Aww." Italy huffed, looked dejected, but within a split second, he was back to his cheerful self. "Come on Luddy! Play with meeeee!" His laughter sounded like church bells, and it made Germany's heart melt.

"W-What do you mean by play?" He stuttered, watching as Italy lay his head on the table. His silky auburn hair framed his slender face, and his honey golden eyes locked onto Germany's blue ones. The breath caught in his throat. He was mesmerizing. That man was too beautiful for words, and not just in looks. To keep such a bright outlook on life day after day wasn't something for the weak-willed. He was the one with real strength.

"Germany? Are you in there?" Italy asked, brushing a hand over Germany's cheek. Germany jumped when he felt Italy's fingertips run across his face.

"S-Sorry, I got distracted." Germany mumbled, feeling his face begin to heat up. "So, what did you want to do?" He murmured, unable to make eye contact with the other for fear of giving himself away.

Italy smiled anyway, leaning his head against Germany's shoulder. "Never mind, we can just stay here." Reaching over, he laced his fingers with Germany's, clasping their hands together. Germany looked over in surprise. His heart was beating a mile a minute. Italy looked so peaceful; he was staring at nothing in particular, but his face held a soft glow that made him look like an angel.

"O-Okay." Germany gave Italy's hand a slight squeeze, eliciting a sigh from the man leaning against him. Italy snuggled closer into Germany's side, a look of pure content gracing his features.

"Thanks."

.oOo.

 _11:15 p.m._

Spain sat slumped against the headboard, a glum look on his face. After the fight with Romano, if you could even call it a fight, Spain rushed into the nearest room, which just happened to be a guest room. It had taken a bit of force to get away from France and Prussia. He knew they meant well, but he couldn't deal with their comments right now.

 _Romano, do you really hate me?_

"Hey, Spagna." A rough voice called into the room. Startled, Spain nearly fell out of bed.

"R-Roma?" He whispered in surprise. He wasn't expecting a visit from his boyfriend after the argument they'd had earlier. Romano wasn't one for anger management. It was always at least a day before he could get over it.

"Yeah it's me, you bastard." Romano glared at him. Spain winced. Still mad, obviously. Biting his lip, Spain gestured for Romano to join him on the bed. Reluctantly agreeing, Romano sat on the edge, refusing to look Spain in the eye.

"How did you find me?" Spain asked, watching as Romano rolled his eyes. There were at least one hundred rooms in this place, it wasn't hard to get lost.

"Idiota, I will always find you." Romano mumbled. Spain's eyes widened and Romano looked away, blushing furiously. Unable to contain his jubilation, Spain tackled the other in a bone-crushing hug.

Romano struggled against him, but his grip was too strong. "B-Bastard. G-Get off of meeee!" Spain only laughed, hugging him tightly.

"Lovi that was so sweet!" He squealed happily.

"I said get off!" Romano yelled angrily, managing to push the excited Spaniard to the other side of the bed.

"Sorry Roma." He replied sheepishly, trying to restrain himself. Seeing the glare on his boyfriend's face brought him back to reality.

They sat in silence for several minutes, neither one of them able to bring themselves to break the tension. The quiet was suffocating. Spain couldn't take it for another moment and burst into speech.

"Romano, I'm really sorry about earlier. I know you're not big on affection, especially public displays of affection, but you just looked so beautiful and I love you so much, I had to tell you!"

"Spa-" Romano started, but Spain continued to speak.

"I know you don't want to tell anyone, and I thought it was just because you were shy, but…do you really l-love me? Are you that embarrassed of me that you can't even tell your own brother?" He finished quietly, staring at his hands which were clenched into tight fists.

Romano stared at him in shock. Spain…didn't think he loved him?

 _How could you even think something like that? I knew you were an idiot, but I didn't think you were that stupid!_

Spain bit his lip to keep it from trembling. He could feel his eyes beginning to water, and he willed his tears to stay where they belonged.

"If you don't, I understand. I'll leave you alone; you won't have to talk to me again." Spain sniffled softly, and jagged breaths ripped from his throat.

"O-Of course I love you, stupid bastard." He crawled to meet the Spaniard on the other side of the bed, tentatively putting a hand on his quivering shoulder. Spain peered up at him with watery eyes. A stray tear managed to escape and slowly rolled down his cheek.

"D-Don't just stay out of pity. It's okay if you want to leave. I know I'm not the best boyfriend in the world. I'll just g-go." Wiping his eyes on the sleeve of his shirt, Spain started to get out of bed. Just as he reached the edge, he felt something tug on the back of his shirt.

"L-Lovi?" He mumbled in confusion. Why was Romano stopping him? This was what he wanted, right?

"Don't." He replied. Spain stared at him in confusion, cocking his head slightly.

"D-Don't what?" He asked.

Romano looked him straight in the eye. "Don't even think about leaving me." Without another word, Romano embraced him roughly, clutching at his shirt. "You can't leave me." He murmured into Spain's chest. "I-I love you Antonio."

Spain burst into tears, huge noisy sobs. "I l-love you too Lovino! Never leave me!" He cried, holding onto Romano for dear life.

"I won't, I promise bastard." Releasing his sobbing partner, Romano knew it was time.

"Come on, it's almost twelve." Romano grabbed Spain by the wrist, pulling him towards the door. As he reached for the doorknob, his other hand grew cold. He looked over in confusion. Spain would never pass up a chance to hold his hand. Was this because of earlier? Did he still think that he was embarrassed of him?

Romano shook his head, reaching out to intertwine their fingers once again. Spain stared at him in surprise.

"R-Roma?" He stuttered uncertainly. Romano gave his hand a final squeeze and opened the door.

"Let's go." He replied gruffly. Despite the harsh tone, a small smile began to tug at the corners of his lips. Spain gave a blinding smile in response, gripping Romano's hand tighter.

"Okay." He chirped happily.

 _How did I ever get this lucky?_

*A/N Wow, that was a really long chapter, but I hope you liked it! I've never written Spamano before, but they're so cute, and I love their dynamic. Anyway, the next chapter will be the stroke of twelve. Finally! I'm going to split the chapter into two sections so you can see New Years from both America and Italy's perspective. After that will be the epilogue. I can't wait for the final chapter! See you soon!*


	9. Chapter 9

Fireworks and Champagne Chapter Nine

*A/N I'm back from my vacation; a little sunburnt, but I'm here! I'm sorry that you guys had to wait so long, but here it is, the final chapter. I can't believe it! This has been such a ride, and I want to thank everyone for sticking with me through it all. The first part of the chapter will be from America/England's perspective, and the second part will be from Germany/Italy's. I'll make it obvious when the point of view changes. Enjoy!*

 _11:30 p.m._

Noisy chatter and blaring music still filled the house as America rushed from room to room, clutching the rose like a lifeline.

"Come on, where are you Iggy?" He mumbled under his breath, brushing past nation after nation as he dashed through the house. Suddenly he slid to a halt, just barely maintaining his balance. All thoughts of finding the elusive country dissipated from his mind, and without any warning, he flew in the other direction, almost knocking Austria's violin out of his hand.

 _Why the hell does he have a violin? And at a party? I thought piano was his thing._

America mentally shrugged. That man was practically made of music, it shouldn't surprise anyone anymore.

America continued to run. Nobody paid him any mind as he shot up the stairs and into his bedroom, slamming the door behind him. Now, to carry out the plan.

.oOo.

 _11:35 p.m._

 _Bloody hell. It's so fucking loud in here. How can America stand it?_

England was seated in an armchair amidst the noise and clamor of the celebration. It wasn't like he hated fun, despite Alfred's insistence, he just couldn't figure out what was so appealing about repeatedly having your eardrums blown out. He would like to keep his hearing, thank you very much.

At the thought of the blond nation, England sighed. He really couldn't figure him out. _First he gets all upset over a simple comment, then he acts like it never happened!_

England leaned back into the chair, crossing his arms. _Then he has the gall to ask me to dance! What the hell does that mean?! He even made me drink champagne with him. Well, so much for ignoring him. God. Why can't I get him out of my head?_

England stared ahead with a blank look on his face. He was still trying to sort out everything that had happened that evening, when he heard someone softly clear their throat. He looked up in surprise. America stood before him, shifting his weight from foot to foot and looking embarrassed. England peered up at him expectantly.

 _You aren't here for no reason, just spit it out!_

That's when he noticed what America was hiding. Well, not exactly what, but he could tell he was hiding something, what with both hands behind his back. America bit his lip. It looked like he was trying to psych himself up.

England was getting tired of his antics. "Wha-?" Something was frantically shoved into his chest, effectively cutting him off.

"Umm, h-here." America stuttered, staring pointedly above England's shoulder. A faint blush made itself evident on his cheeks despite his best efforts.

England didn't even have a chance to inspect the object before America ran out of the room once again. It only took a few seconds to shake himself out of his stupor. When he regained his bearings, his peered down at the offending object. He frowned. A rose? Why a rose?

He ran his eyes down the sweet smelling plant, noticing a small patch of red at the bottom. His frown deepened. He must have been holding it so tightly that the thorns punctured his skin.

 _I hope he's okay._

England mentally cursed himself for the kind thoughts. That was exactly what he was supposed to be avoiding! He couldn't give in now! A few more seconds passed. Just as he began to push himself out of the chair, a folded slip of paper slid out from the top of the flower. Bending down to pick it up, England steeled himself.

 _What kind of thing did America cook up now? I hope it's not something weird…again. Or something that makes me think too much about my (non-existent) feelings…again._

He slowly unfolded the paper. He had absolutely no idea what was running through America's mind when he wrote this. It could be anything.

 _Meet me outside in ten minutes._

 _-Alfred F. Jones (a.k.a. the hero)_

He glanced over the contents of the note, too preoccupied to really take it all in. England rolled his eyes. Typical America. Wait… He did a double take.

 _What? Why does he want me to come outside? Is this a prank or something?_

But that thought was quickly washed out of his mind as he recalled the strange expression on the blond's face. It couldn't have been a joke. God, why was everything so complicated? Why did he have to feel like this? Fuck. There was no getting around it anymore. He was in love with America, with Alfred. Everything he did enthralled the older man, even when he was being his klutzy self.

England buried his face in his hands momentarily. Did that mean America felt the same way? Maybe that was the reason for his strange behavior recently. England sighed. He couldn't be sure. He would just have to take a chance and see what America wanted.

.oOo.

 _11:45 p.m._

America checked his watch for the billionth time. England still wasn't there. He made sure everything was perfect, but he still couldn't calm himself down. He already told himself this was his last attempt, and that finality was scaring the shit out of him.

 _If he's not here after two minutes, I'm giving up._

Just as America finished his thought, a green clad figure emerged from the darkness, holding the red rose given to him only minutes ago. America pushed himself off of the tree he was leaning against and went to greet his target.

England approached him slowly. His face was unreadable.

 _God, what is he thinking? He probably thought it was a prank. I should've just given up already._

They stood facing each other. Silence. Seconds passed, and the tension grew thicker. England was the first to break it.

"Well, I'm here. What did you want to show me?" America let out a breath he didn't know he was holding.

"Come on dude, I set something up in the backyard." He smiled shakily, hesitantly reaching out for England's hand. England raised an eyebrow at his lack of movement, not noticing America's hand slowly inching towards his.

America dropped his arm to his side, looking a little deterred. He began walking towards the back of the house, expecting the other to follow. England frowned, but trailed behind the taller nation, wondering what the hell had gotten into him.

After about thirty seconds, America stopped. He sat down on the grass and patted the space next to him, silently asking England to sit. He obliged, lowering himself onto the grass and gingerly placing the rose next to the two of them. He turned to America expectantly, waiting for an explanation.

America chuckled nervously, ruffling his hair. "Just wait." England frowned in confusion.

"Aren't we going to miss the ball drop? I thought that was basically the point of this party." America shrugged sheepishly.

"I hope you don't mind. I…I just wanted you to see this." England sighed, although he was getting extremely curious as to what America could be talking about. He never shut up about New Years once Christmas ended, so it must be something he really cared about.

They ended up sitting in silence for another ten minutes, and England was getting very impatient.

"America, are you going to show me something or not?" He asked, watching the blue-eyed man shoot him a sly smile.

"Just another minute." He whispered. England sighed. This was not the way he expected to spend his New Years Eve, but because it was America, he let himself make an exception.

America grabbed his arm, pointing at the watch strapped to his wrist: 11:59 p.m. Then he pointed to the sky. England's eyes followed his hand.

America leaned towards him to whisper in his ear. "Ten…nine…eight…seven…six…" England shuddered. Bloody hell, why did his voice have to be so erotic?

"Five…four…three…two…one…" A burst of light illuminated the sky, followed by another, and another. England was entranced. Blues, reds, greens, whites and golds filled the night, their light reflected in England's glimmering eyes.

America turned to face him, drinking in the look of wonder on his face. He smiled to himself. Yes, this was the perfect plan.

"You told me once that you'd never seen fireworks. I thought this would be the perfect time." England reluctantly tore his gaze from the bright lights, and a bright smile lit up his face. America turned away, using the light of the fireworks to cover up his blush.

"Thank you, truly." He whispered, covering America's hand with his own. He could hear the sharp intake of breath coming from the other man. "It's beautiful."

"D-Do you really like it?" He asked softly. England smiled sweetly, making America blush harder.

"I love it." He murmured back. America let out a laugh, enveloping England in a bone crushing hug. England jumped at the sudden contact, but soon leaned into the touch. He'd long since abandoned any reserve, and just let himself enjoy the evening.

When America felt England move against him, he immediately pulled away, taking it as an attempt to break free.

 _Shit. Fuck. Shit. I fucked up. Now he's gonna leave, and I'll have to spend New Years by myself. I knew it was a stupid plan, England was probably just going along with it so he could laugh at me later. He doesn't really care. He-_

"America." He jolted in surprise, whipping his head around to face the other. England pulled him to his feet. America looked away once again, unable to bring himself to make eye contact with the other man, not when he knew what was coming. England was going to laugh at him for trying so hard and then tell him never to talk to him again. God, he was so stupid!

"Y-You can go inside now. Sorry for wasting your time." America turned away, but was stopped by a hand on his arm, England's hand.

"W-What?" He stuttered, caught up in England's piercing gaze.

"You aren't wasting my time." He whispered, his face suddenly only an inch away from the other man's.

"No, you don't have to lie. I kno-" The rest of his sentence was muffled behind England's hand.

"America." He muttered, removing his hand from America's mouth. They were so close that he could feel England's hot breath ghosting over his neck.

"Shut up." Grabbing America by the tie, he closed the gap between them. America made a strangled noise. Was England…kissing him? He had his answer when England began to move his lips against his own. America's eyes widened comically.

The kiss was chaste but filled with emotion. England pulled away, laying his forehead against America's. "Happy New Year Alfred." He breathed.

Suddenly, there was too much space between them. It felt like they hadn't seen each other in centuries. America smashed their lips together and grabbed England by the waist, desperate to close the remaining gap.

"A-Al…" England moaned as America pressed their bodies together, sucking America's bottom lip into his mouth. America shuddered, he'd never felt anything like this. He could count the number of times he'd been kissed on one hand, but this was by far the best one.

England began to trail kisses down America's neck, nipping him lightly. America moaned into England's shoulder. England responded by rolling his hips against the taller man's.

"Fuck. God, I love you." He panted. Immediately, England let go of him, staring at him in shock. America looked mortified, despite their recent activities.

"Umm, I mean…I…" He started, but England grabbed him by the hand. No more lies. No more running. No more hiding.

 _Fuck it._

"I love you too."

*A/N Heh heh heh. Well, that kind of got away from me. It just didn't feel right to add Italy and Germany in this chapter, and I liked where it ended. Oh well, I guess that means you guys are getting an "extra" chapter! I hope you don't mind too much (rip my life). Anyway, I'll definitely have the next chapter up this week, and then I'll just have the epilogue, I promise. Thanks for reading!*


	10. Chapter 10

*A/N Hey everyone! I'm back again! In this chapter we're rewinding about thirty minutes to experience New Years with Italy and Germany. I hope you enjoy!*

 _11:30 p.m._

"Germany! Germany! Let's goooo!" Italy was attempting to drag Germany into the living room, but the taller man would not budge.

"Please?" Italy pleaded, pouting slightly. "I love this song." Germany sighed.

"Why don't you go enjoy it then?" He responded tersely. The shorter nation had been dragging him all over the house for the past two hours, chatting with other nations, eating food, and just generally having a good time, but Germany was getting tired of his constant movement and noise. Although, he couldn't deny that the young man was a true wonder. One minute he was bouncing off the walls, and the other he was sleeping in Germany's lap.

His heart skipped a beat at that thought. Feeling his soft silky hair against his shoulder, and his chest rising and falling gently against his own; the way he smiled even when fast asleep.

Suddenly there was a sharp pull on his arm. Shaken out of his thoughts, Germany realized that Italy dragged him into a mob of people.

 _How did he manage to get me in here? It's not like he's even that strong!_

His frustration and confusion only lasted for a split second, however, as the man of his thoughts reappeared before him, a sweet smile on his face.

"Luddy! Come on, I love this song! Remember?" His laughter chimed like church bells on a crisp morning. Germany sighed once more.

"I know. You just said that." Italy pouted, approaching his friend with a knowing look on his face.

"So…you should dance with me!" He said with a flourish, clasping Germany's hands in his own. The taller nation flushed a deep red, immediately wrenching his hands out of the other's loose grip.

Italy's smile fell, replaced by a look of confusion and…hurt?

"Y-You can't dance with me." Germany spluttered, still taken aback. Italy frowned slightly. He saw nothing wrong with a little dance, especially with someone you cared about. And he cared about Germany, more than cared. Why couldn't he see that?

Germany wouldn't meet Italy's eyes, still beet red. His heart was beating out of his chest. He knew he made Italy upset, but he couldn't have him that close. He would give himself away. Although he knew how he felt, he couldn't muster up the courage to talk to Italy in that regard. There was no way he felt the same way. He was always chatting up pretty women, flirting whenever he got the chance. He even had the nerve to sweet talk some girls on their disastrous date a few years back, if it could even be called a date.

 _God, that was a mess. But it just goes to show that he doesn't swing that way, at least not for you._

Germany felt something warm fill his hands. When his eyes finally refocused, he realized that Italy was right in front of him, holding Germany's large hands in his smaller ones. His face was a mixture of determination and happiness, with a glint of something else Germany couldn't decipher.

"W-What are you doing Italy?" He stuttered, feeling his blush return at full force.

 _Calm down. That's just the way he always acts. Don't pretend it means more than it does._

"Dancing." He replied simply, pulling Germany into the middle of the room, brushing past dozens of people who paid him no mind.

"B-But…" He began hesitantly, but was cut off by the insistent brunet.

"It doesn't matter. Nobody will care. Look, even Spain and Romano are dancing, and no one's saying anything." Italy cut in.

 _It's about damn time fratello. Everyone saw it coming._

Italy put a hand on Germany's hip, placing the other on his shoulder. Germany could feel his heart in his chest as Italy peered up at him, his bright amber eyes wide in anticipation and excitement. He looked away but could still feel Italy's penetrating gaze boring into his skull.

"Fine, but I…" His voice trailed into a whisper too soft for Italy to hear. The shorter nation's eyebrows knitted together in confusion.

"Ve? I couldn't hear you." Italy chirped, cocking his head. Germany closed his eyes. His face felt hot, and he knew that his blush was evident.

"I don't know how to dance." He murmured under his breath. Italy giggled, shooting the other a sweet grin.

"Don't worry Luddy, I can teach you!" Italy's smile widened when Germany allowed him to position his hands.

"Put this hand here, and this one up here. Even though you're bigger than me, I can lead since you don't know how." There was only an inch of space between them. Italy began to sway his hips.

"Now just follow me."

His movements were slow and clumsy, trying to keep up with Italy's as they danced in the middle of the room. Every time Germany stepped on Italy's feet, the brunet would gently correct him. After a particularly loud yelp, Germany sighed in defeat.

"Sorry Feli, I can't do this, the music is too fast." Italy bit his lip. It was true that Germany wasn't the best dancer in the world, but it wasn't like he was the worst either! It was nothing a little, or maybe a lot, of practice couldn't fix.

Suddenly the music changed. Soft lilting harmonies filled the air. Italy's smile came back at full force. He would have to thank France the next time they met. He pulled the unsuspecting blonde back towards him with a quiet "Ve…"

"Is this better?" Italy whispered, laying his head on Germany's chest.

"Yes" He breathed, tentatively laying his hands on Italy's waist. Italy smiled into the taller man's shirt, breathing in the scent that was uniquely Germany.

 _I love you._

"Just move to the music." He murmured, his slender fingers gripping Germany's shoulders. Germany closed his eyes, letting the music wash over him. They stood in silence, swaying softly, blind to the rest of the world. The only thing that existed was each other.

.oOo.

 _11:45 p.m._

"Look what that potato bastard is doing to mio fratellino!" Romano growled, struggling to release himself from Spain's iron grip.

"Roma…please calm down." Spain gasped after a harsh elbow to the ribs.

"No, I refuse to calm down, dammit! That bastard is fucking harassing my little brother!" Spain rolled his eyes. Romano needed to take a chill pill, that was for sure.

"Ah, but mi tomate, just look at them." He pointed in their direction. Sure enough, they were in their own little world. Romano only scowled, crossing his freed arms and looking away.

"Come on Roma, at least it looks like they're finally getting somewhere. They've been dancing around each other for so long. Don't you think it's time to take a step forward?"

Romano shot an incredulous look in his boyfriend's direction. "What do you fucking think, you bastard?!" Spain sighed, shaking his head.

"Think of it this way. You and me, okay? So, I've loved you for a long time, and you love me too. Right?" Spain began.

"Tch." Romano glared at the Spaniard, turning his head.

"Right. Anyway, we won't acknowledge each other at all, only throwing insults at the other, or in their case, it's just plain awkward at some points. Then we finally get together. How does that feel?" He turned to Romano, expecting an answer.

"Good…I guess." He muttered softly.

"Okay. So, we finally have the courage to reveal our relationship, like tonight, but Vene calls you an idiot and says that I'm corrupting you. How would you feel then?" Romano bit his lip. He knew what Spain was doing, but he couldn't help but picture it in his mind. His worst fear: rejection.

"I would feel fucking bad, okay!" Romano scowled at the other nation, trying to look angry instead of hurt.

"Of course. Now, try switching that situation around. This time it's Vene and Germany. How do you think Italy feels when you call him stupid and tell him that Germany is worthless?" Romano stopped.

 _Do I really make him feel like that?_

Despite his quick temper, Romano did care for his younger brother. They were blood kin, and they had to stick together.

"Oh…" Romano mumbled.

"Oh is right Roma." Spain replied, glad to see that Romano was finally understanding. He knew that feelings weren't his strong suit, but it was good that he could see the power of his words.

"Now, when they tell you upfront, you're going to congratulate them like a loving brother. No cursing, if you can help it." Spain said sternly, watching as Romano rolled his eyes.

"Fine." He replied tersely. "Tomato bastard." He mumbled under his breath.

"Hey! I heard that Roma!" Spain laughed good naturedly, lightly punching Romano on the arm. He turned back to the pair in the middle of the room. They were still in their own little bubble, oblivious to the world around them.

.oOo.

 _11:50 p.m._

"Ve Luddy, thanks for dancing with me! It was so fun!" Italy giggled. Both men were sitting on one of America's many couches, watching as one of the nations flipped through the TV channels.

"Ja. It was…fun." Germany's face reddened at the memory of their bodies so close together, just enjoying the music and each other's company.

 _I still can't tell if this means anything to him! God, why does he have to be so confusing?!_

"Hey! They've got it!" Italy bounced up and down on the sofa, pointing at the television.

"We only have t-minus ten minutes until 2019. How does that make you feel America?!" A reporter in Times Square announced to the world. The colossal crowd cheered in response. It looked like everyone wanted a new start.

"Are you excited Germany?" Italy asked, trembling in anticipation.

"I guess so. However, New Years just isn't the most important holiday for me, so I don't really get all the excitement." Italy gaped in response, looking like someone just told him they hated pasta.

"What?! New Years is the best! You get a whole new start and you get to look forward to another happy year!" Italy cried passionately. Germany sighed in exasperation as the young man spoke loudly.

"Ja, ja. If you say so." He muttered, running a hand through his hair. Italy smiled, sitting back down on the couch and leaning against Germany's shoulder. The blond man felt his heart skip a beat when Italy pressed up against him.

 _Calm down you idiot. He always acts like this, it's nothing to get all worked up about._

They lapsed into comfortable silence, once Germany got his emotions in check, and lay there for a few minutes, watching the TV and just generally enjoying the other's company.

Soon, the rest of the nations began to fill the room, mingling about and waiting for the moment that would ring in the new year. Minutes passed in quiet conversation. The clock began to tick down. One minute to go.

Italy yanked Germany's arm excitedly, the look of anticipation on his face was almost tangible. Germany sighed, resigning himself to put up with the brunet's antics for another thirty seconds. He turned his head to face the shorter man, whose honey brown eyes gleamed in happiness. The exuberance was blinding, he couldn't look away.

The room burst into noise. "Ten! Nine! Eight! Seven! Six!"

The last few seconds of the year were ticking away. "Five! Four! Three! Two! One!"

"Happy New Year!" The crowd let out a raucous cheer, sending the room into chaos. Germany felt a tug on his shirt, and he turned away from the TV. He was met with shimmering amber eyes only an inch away from his blue ones.

"W-Wha-" He stuttered. Having the other this close to him did things he would rather not dwell on. Italy only smiled, leaning in slowly, pressing his lips against the other's. The room went silent. Germany felt the breath catch in his throat and his face start to heat up. Italy broke away after only a moment, smiling widely. Germany couldn't meet his eyes. Italy pecked him on the cheek, ignoring the look of utter surprise and embarrassment on the taller nation's face.

"Happy New Year Ludwig." He whispered happily.

"H-Happy New Year Feli." He muttered, still in shock of what just transpired.

The room erupted in cheers once again. Suddenly there were people surrounding them, patting them on the back and congratulating them. Germany buried his face in his hands while Italy soaked up the attention with a look of pure joy on his features. After several minutes of chatter over the couple, someone tapped Italy on the shoulder. He turned, expecting another nation coming to chat about what just took place. Instead, Romano stood there, looking like he would rather be anywhere else. Spain appeared from the throng and put his hand on Romano's shoulder. Romano glared at Spaniard, shaking off the support. He steeled himself, letting out a breath.

"I'm happy for you…and the potato bastard." He mumbled. Italy's frown of confusion turned to one of glee, and he wrapped his arms around his unsuspecting brother.

"Thank you fratello! You're the best!" He squealed happily. Romano allowed the hug. But don't get him wrong, this was a one-time thing. One time!

Soon the crowd began to dissipate. People said their thanks to America, who had mysteriously disappeared during the ball drop, but was now showing people to the door, pulling England along with him. As the room emptied, Germany and Italy were left on the couch in silence. The tension grew thicker by the minute. They could barely stand it. After another few seconds, they both turned their heads at the same time, desperate to get a word out.

"Feli."

"Luddy."

Italy laughed nervously, rubbing the back of his head. Germany bit his lip gesturing to the smaller man.

"You first." Italy smiled.

"So, does this mean you like me?" He asked innocently. Germany began to splutter, frantically trying to come up with a response.

"What?! N-No, it's nothing like that!" He exclaimed. Italy's smile fell. He looked crushed.

"O-Oh." He murmured. Germany looked up at Italy's somber expression, and he felt his stomach lurch.

 _Say something you idiot!_

"No! It's not like I hate you or anything." He gestured widely. This only seemed to make things worse. Italy bit his lip, looking down.

 _No, not that, stupid!_

"T-That's okay. I'll just go." He pushed himself from the comfort of the couch, turning to head out of the room.

"Wait!" Germany yelled. Italy froze abruptly, whirling around to face the blond nation. It looked like it was taking all of Germany's strength to get his next words out.

"I…I love you Feli." He muttered quietly.

 _Not that either!_

Italy's eyes widened comically. It took a moment for the words to sink in. Bubbly laughter filled the room, and Italy launched himself at the taller man.

"Ti amo Luddy! Ti amo!" He cried, his eyes starting to fill with happy tears. Germany let out a soft smile, tentatively wrapping his arms around the emotional Italian.

A _ll this time I spent worrying over him for nothing._

Italy pulled away, locking eyes with Germany. Well, not for nothing. This man was worth more than life itself.

"Luddy, does this mean we're together now?" He asked hesitantly. Germany felt his blush return at full force.

"I-I mean, if you want to." He murmured quietly. If it was even possible, Italy's smile widened further, and he buried his face into Germany's chest.

"Of course I want to! I get to be with my best friend forever, yay!" Germany chuckled softly, running his hands through Italy's soft auburn hair.

If this was the start of the new year, he couldn't wait to see where it would go from here.

A/N It finally happened guys! How many of you thought that Italy would be the one to initiate it, and how many thought Germany? Anyway, all I have left is the epilogue to tie everything together. I'll see you all soon, and thanks for reading! Ciao!*


	11. Chapter 11: Epilogue

*A/N I can't believe it! I actually finished a story! Hold your applause until after the chapter (lol just kidding). Anyway, I just want to thank everyone who's been here since the beginning, and those that are just joining now. Every comment and kudo really mean a lot. Please enjoy the last chapter of Fireworks and Champagne!*

 _January 1_ _st_ _, 1:00 a.m._

Despite the lateness of the hour, the Holiday Inn was still bustling with people running in from night flights or running out to catch an early morning plane. A blonde woman sat slumped at the reception desk, looking like she was about to fall asleep. A tinkling chime sounded throughout the room, signaling the arrival of yet another guest, and the young woman groaned, lifting her head up and brushing the hair out of her eyes.

"Oh god, not another one." She said to herself. The hotel was just too busy these days, but that's what you get when you're stationed next to an airport. The blonde-haired woman wiped at her eyes and the world slowly came back into focus. Two young men had just entered the building. The brunet's lilting voice filled the hall as he smiled at the other. As they turned the corner, she could see how their fingers intertwined gently, like they were afraid of hurting the other, and she could have sworn the blond man was blushing slightly as they disappeared into the hall. She smiled slyly to herself. There was no doubt about it. You could see that one coming from a mile away.

.oOo.

"Hey Luddy?" Italy asked with a smile on his face. Germany turned around to face the whimsical Italian sitting next to him on the sofa, whose hand was still clasped in his.

"What is it Feli?" He said, watching as Italy's grin grew. His own lips threatened to curve into a smile, and he let them. Nothing could put a damper on his mood tonight.

"Did you have a good time?" Italy mumbled, rubbing his face into Germany's side. Germany ran his hands through his lover's silky hair, eliciting a hum of pleasure from the brunet.

"Of course I did. T-There's nowhere I'd rather be." He faltered on the last bit, still unable to comprehend that his feelings weren't unrequited. Italy only smiled, his honey golden eyes shimmering in the moonlight streaming through the uncovered window.

"Me neither." Italy replied, squeezing Germany's hand and interlocking their fingers. He sighed in content, leaning his head against Germany's shoulder once again and closing his eyes. The way his auburn locks draped over his slender face gave him an almost angelic appeal. Germany gave a soft smile, wrapping an arm around his lover's smaller frame. He let himself drift into sleep along with his partner, their calm faces illuminated by the pale moonlight spilling through the glass. An air of contentment washed over the room.

For the first time in centuries, they were united; together; as one.

*A/N It's finished! I literally cannot believe it! I'm so sorry for the wait by the way, I had trouble figuring out how to end this, but I like the way it came out. Sorry if you were hoping for some more USUK, I just couldn't bring myself to ruin the moment I set up in "their" chapter. Anyway, thank you so much for sticking with me throughout this huge process. I hope you enjoyed it! Ciao!

-ImmortalSpuffy202*


End file.
